Chance of Error
by GirlDressedInBlack
Summary: Kurogane wouldn't let Fai die, no matter what the idiot wanted. He just wished that someone had told him there could be side-effects. The mage was going to hate him more than he expected. Ratings upped for self-harm, body horror and suicidal ideation. Sort of KuroFai
1. Chapter 1

AN: So this is kinda crack… Well the idea was then it got, well, serious. And just a little angsty. Hope you enjoy anyway…

~~~~(o.O)~~~~

Kurogane can feel the force of Fai's fingers as they bite into him even through his clothes. The man contorts under him, breath coming fast with dry sobs. His eyes are screwed shut against the pain and Kurogane hopes more than he ever has before that they open again. Stupid mage would try and save everyone else with his death. Mokona whimpers from the edge of the bed and the witch just watches. The mage writhes one last time before falling back against the bed with a gasp, eyes opening to reveal yellow slitted pupils. Kurogane pries the blonde's arms from him as his eyes close again.

"It's best to let him rest, right?" he mutters as he steps back from the sleeping man. Nobody replies.

What.

The.

Hell.

The blonde lies there, breathing still heavy but thankfully more steady. Kurogane stares wondering if the process had somehow made him hallucinate. He rubs his eyes. Nope, still there. Protruding through his hair are two cat ears covered in smooth fur and from somewhere behind him a thin tail which twitches slightly in his sleep.

"What the hell happened?" Kamui meets his gaze nonchalantly.

"Sorry, there is always a 0.000001% chance of the blood being badly affected by any magic the recipient has and turning them into something part animal. There is also always a 0.00000000000734% chance of any recipient switching genders. Guess you were just really unlucky." Nobody said anything about side-effects! Wait, what? I glance back at Fai and watch the much gentler rise and fall of his chest- _her_ chest.

"So Fai-san is a cat-girl now?" Mokona tilts its head, tears still drying on its fur. Kamui nods, "At least Fai-san is still alive." Sighing I look out the window at the desolate sands. The pork-bun is right.

"Hey, we should let her rest." The Mokona hops up onto my shoulder and this time I don't push it off. "Let's go."

~~~~(O.o)~~~~

AN: So, well that was weird… Message me if you want me to write more with this I guess, I think I could… Anyway, review if you want, I would love to hear why it sucked (or why it didn't if you really think that) and thank you for reading


	2. Chapter 2

_I suppose it's not the furthest future but it's been a while- here's a second chapter. Hopefully there'll be another in a month or so but it depends how much time I have and how long everything else I have to do takes._

* * *

The ceiling is dull, colour taken by the years of ruin and harsh weather and all the tiles missing.

Beneath it Fai shifts, brow furrowing as her breath stutters and she wakes up.

She shoots upright, eyes wide as she slumps forwards, forearms over her knees. Her spine curves and straightens with every breath as her eyes narrow in shock at the sudden intake of light.

"Fuck!" She gasps, hands going to her eyelids as she rubs them in confusion.

There's a few moments as she just holds her palms against her face.

"Fuck." She whispers, voice quivering as she sits on the utilitarian bed as still as the desert's bedrock.

Fai lets her arms slip around herself, hugging herself together, cataloguing the strange new sensations and trying to piece together what has happened through a veil of intense pain and shouting and so much red.

Like blood and anger.

Like his eyes.

The woman stays there for as long as she can, silent sobs held in by her hands.

Fai chokes on her tears, trying to swallow the anger and the betrayal and the remorse. Remorse and failure and hate and how could he-

No one visits. She's glad for this at least.

Eventually she manages to uncurl from her ball. Small crescents have etched themselves into her skin by the time she's removed her nails.

There's something calming in the sharp sting of the new wounds. She is distantly aware that the scratches are oozing blood but can't seem to find a reason to care.

It's what she deserves for everything she's done. If she had just died she could have atoned. If they had just let her die-

The woman sits, staring dully ahead. Her legs stretch out before her, limp between the blood soaked sheets, and her hands rest limply in her lap. The turtleneck top is pulled tight, stiff with dried blood- mostly hers- constricting her chest.

She can't bring herself to care about that either.

Somehow she seems paler than before, face washed out by trauma and the contrast with the red around her eyes, swollen from her crying. The tracks still linger on her cheeks which shine with guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.

There's a buzzing in her head as she avoids looking at herself which only increases in pitch.

Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.

The wall opposite is dull, unmoved, stone.

Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.

It is still opposite him. It sees nothing and hears nothing.

Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.

The stone is uncaring, flat, dead.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

Fai looks down and sobs openly, clenching her teeth.

The irrefutable proof is there. In sight and sensation but not in spirit- never in spirit.

The new woman bites down on her tongue hard, feeling the imprint of every tooth as it digs into the muscle.

She deserves as much.


End file.
